Black, White And In Between
by beenworkingonacoktail
Summary: A gathering of fics written for the kuroshi contest lj community, focusing on several characters and/or themes. Prompts used till now - Sugar and Achilles' heel.
1. The child born on the Sabbath day

**Title:** The child born on the Sabbath day  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing/Main Characters:** Ciel Phantomhive  
**Notes:** Title taken from the "Monday's Child" poem. Also, it's quite possible I'm a very bad fan and managed to _miss _it, but it didn't really seem to me that Ciel wholeheartedly enjoys sweets; I may have read the pre-Circus-arc chapters in the manga too long ago, but I was left with the impression that Sebastian surrounded him with exquisite dishes in general, and that having sweets in the morning/afternoon was a habit to be observed (like tea) and not all that much more... Um, yeah, hit me with a blunt object if I'm wrong, please ^^;;  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Prompt:** Sugar

* * *

Ciel is patient and can wait for years; he's _already_ waited years to see his parents' deaths avenged. But in this time he's worked and planned, and he hasn't been idle; he's built quite a name for himself, he's made himself be seen, weaving an ever-stronger noose out of fortune, and influence, and the gossip that follows every case he solves. He does not rest, and will be quick to finish.

He does not think he'll reach eighteen.

He never imagines himself as a young man or an adult – if anything, before that time he'll have undoubtedly run _out_ of patience and ordered Sebastian to find the ones responsible himself, no matter what he has to do.

Sebastian would find them.

And the contract would end.

So Ciel knows that he will die young. That he will always be a child in the eyes of the others, of everyone who doesn't matter, doesn't _know_, and it's galling to think that he'll be pitied when he dies, that the people who will fill the church at his service (if there's even a body; if there's anything left; if traces of the contract don't reveal what he's done – and if they don't, the ceremony will take place, a useless and unknowing breach of church law and tradition, and at _that_ though Ciel would smirk), the people crowding by will look at him and mourn the loss of all his chances, all the potential, all that _life_.

Ciel has no life. He's only waiting for the end.

Ciel is no child. He's killed and almost been killed and seen fresh and old blood be spattered onto walls and floors.

But Ciel _is_ a nobleman, and he is watched, as he had planned, so he follows the customs of the world he lives in, taking lessons he'll never need and dressing and looking the part.

Children should like elaborate suits, with bows and ribbons, lace and silk, and a child forced to be a grown-up would certainly hold on to that - Ciel does so; he does not care.

Children also have whims, and he plays this note with a sneer, demanding everything he wants from his butler, his demon, because he knows he'll be obeyed. It is a game between them, the only one Ciel truly enjoys. Because children should have a sweet-tooth he calls each day for most elaborate deserts, syrups and creams and just the right aromas, exquisite to look at, perfection in a bite.

They do not make him happy.

Sugar is sweet and cloying, a reminder of what he's lost (the playfulness, naiveté and trust), and each delicious piece is heavy on his tongue. He eats them like a connoisseur, evaluating, rating, and if he takes any enjoyment it is from knowing that his simple test was passed with utter ease. That any challenge will seem just as trite.

Sebastian smiles lazily at his approval and Ciel waits for tomorrow, another day wrapped in apparent normalcy, sugary-sweet and rotten.

* * *


	2. Paving the road

**Title:** Paving The Road  
**Rating:** PG  
**Main Characters: **Finnian.  
**Word Count:** 300  
**Warnings:** none.  
**Prompt:** Achilles' heel

* * *

He has everything.

Good, wholesome looks, an open expression, a pleasing voice, a friendly manner. Anyone who met him would warm up to him from the start, because he is so _likeable_. He smiles and has a sense of humour, he could like anyone as well, as long as they were nice, and he rarely gets mad. _You'd_ rarely get mad at him, because he's that polite and that well-meaning.

But he's too strong for his own good. Too strong for anyone's good, even, and try as hard as he might, because he does, he does, he _tries_, he just can't compensate enough.

Like now, when he'd wanted to move the heavy, laden table a little to the left, out of the streak of sunlight coming through the dining-room windows – it wouldn't do for the young master to have light in his eyes or even be too warm. He'd pulled just a little too hard, he'd been just a little too careless, and now the table rested in his hands upended, like... like… like everything felt in his hands, light, immaterial, too difficult to gauge.

There were shards everywhere from broken porcelain and glass. The walls were ruined, the carpet and furniture too. Everything dripped, and ran, and _spoiled_,and the table cloth hung around him, heavy with stains and failure.

Finnian sighed and his heart broke just a little again.

Sebastian would come along and fix this, he was sure – anyone could have heard the crash, and Sebastian was far better than anyone. Sebastian would fix this, and Finnian would be so sorry, and he'll be far more careful in the future, he will, he will, he swears. And he'll keep trying, on and on, because he cares about the master, and he'll do anything he can to help.

* * *


End file.
